Excellent Reasons to be an Idiot
1: I Am (Train) / “I still can’t believe we did that!” Phineas laughed into the phone. “Candace…you looked so freaking…just…” Now he couldn’t stop chuckling for the life of him. “Oh my gosh…!” “You looked like you were going to kill him.” Irving finished for him from his phone. In the center of the whole party-line, one could hear Candace trying to fume and hold back her amusement at the same time. “I admit,” She finally spoke, letting a few giggles pass, “I thought I was going to have to!” And there was laughter all around. “Wait, wait.” Ferb suddenly cut in, sounding just a bit indignant. “What about me? I wasn’t irritating enough to kill?” And the laughter came again in a double-dose. “I really am proud of you, though.” Candace finally admitted. “I mean, you could do all that when you were just kids…and now you’ve set it all aside. It’s not like I’m not proud that you could do it in the first place! It’s just…you know…I couldn’t imagine just giving that up after all those adventures.” “You gave up your obsessive impulses!” Albert called out from behind her, and the phone lines barely picked it up. Candace whipped around for a moment to glare at him. “Don’t make me kill you!” She exclaimed. “My apologies.” “Some things don’t change, I guess…” Baljeet muttered. “Like your inability to keep time, fuzzhead!” Buford cried as he checked his watch. “You got five minutes to pick up that bread and make it over here to the reception before I bury you alive, cream-face! My cousin’s only gettin’ married once.” Baljeet paled. “I am sorry that my car axle broke!” He exclaimed. “Oh yeah? How long’s it been fixed?” “…Three days…fine, I will be there in a moment.” Baljeet sighed and hung up. Buford followed a second later. “Who brings bread to a reception?” Irving asked. “I did!” Candace exclaimed. “Remember? I put it near the lime-green bag?” Now Irving paled. “We thought that was kindling…” He admitted sheepishly. “Well okay gotta go bye people!” And on that note, he hung up before Candace could berate him. Candace sighed. “Well, I gotta go, too. Talk to you later.” Hung up. “G’night.” Ferb spoke casually and returned the phone to its place on the receiver. Phineas put his phone down last. He couldn’t help but think about what Candace had said. What if he hadn’t stopped all the inventing? Had his life been better back then than it was right now? He tried to imagine himself holding a discussion with the same little ten-year-olds about how he’d put down this life to dedicate it to work and helping to support a family of three. He probably would’ve broken their hearts right in front of them. Phineas swiveled back around in his chair so that he faced his desk again. Gently prying open one of the drawers, he selected a small paper, folded and yellowing and frayed all through the ages. He unfolded this bucket list for about the seventh time that week. Forty-four items in all. And how many had he checked off? Seven! A meager seven! A list of all the (ludicrous) things he’d hoped to do before he turned seventeen, devised the summer before he turned five, before he met Ferb, and how many were gone? Seven. “Daddy?” A sweet little voice near the door snapped his train of thought in half. Glancing over his shoulder, Phineas saw two of his favorite people behind the threshold. “What’cha been DO-in’?” Colleen had picked up this small habit from her mother, who still tended to use the phrase. “Nothing much.” Phineas grinned and stood, then swooping down to embrace the four-year-old. Standing back up, he met Isabella in the eyes. “What about you two?” “She gets cuter every day, I’m telling you.” She gripped his shoulder with joy. “Colleen, baby, sing that song you learned for your daddy.” “Bow-chicka-bow-wow! Das what my baby says! Mow-mow-mow, n’ my heart starts pumpin’!” The girl sang with pure enthusiasm and the most adorable volume. Phineas couldn’t believe it. “Where on Earth did you hear that?” He exclaimed, chuckling at the same time. “On the T.V., Daddy—Hey! You interrupted!” And, after regaining her place after being so ungraciously thrown off, she continued her recital. Could Phineas’ life have ever been better than it was right now? He decided, no, no it could not. / / / 2: Irreplaceable (Beyoncé) / Stacy wasn’t the problem herself. No, no. Stacy was one of the sweetest people in the world, and she was adorable with a good humor to her to boot. The problem was that Albert and Candace had to get the project done by Wednesday, and Stacy had brought with her, every night, for the past three weeks, a new male friend. And every night, for the past three weeks, a new male would leave her house early and never be allowed back again. Tonight was no different. Albert pulled a pillow over his ears, grimacing as the argumentative shrieks continued. Candace gritted her teeth and forced half the pillow from his grip, covering her ears with it as well, so that they were beneath it with their heads right next to each other. “YOU’D BETTER GO!” “MAYBE I WILL!” “THEN HURRY UP! No, no, wait! I insist I call you a taxi!” “How polite of you.” “Yes, I’m just as NICE AS YOU WERE—DON’T JUST WALK AWAY WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU!” “Please…kill…me…” Albert muttered. Candace groaned. How could Stacy not find anybody? She usually had better luck than this, and she was a good enough person to get it. How was she attracting—and in turn, giving—such disputes? Whatever it was, the boy-of-the-day was now halted by the front door, calling back up the stairs. “You know, you’ll never find another one like me.” Stacy coughed in disbelief. “I could find another guy like you in one minute!” She exclaimed as she descended the stairs, giving him one final shove out the door. “Oh, REALLY?” He crossed his arms. “Yep!” And with that, the door slammed in his face. Stacy sighed heavily and returned to the couch where her best friend sat with Albert. Slowly and silently, tears began to fall from her eyes. With the eraser of her pencil, Candace quickly wiped them away. “It’s okay…you know, maybe Jeremy could help us find someone…Stacy, come on…” Albert simply grunted his sympathy and buried his nose back into the novel they were to study, and all the while, he couldn’t help but think that Stacy could find another man like the previous is less than thirty seconds. / / / Poptart Warning: This contains a pairing that you may not like. / 3: Use Somebody / “''Goooooooood evening'', fellow craphead!” Irving slammed the door behind him as he practically skipped out onto the roof. Albert tried to keep his look of disgust from going to one of amusement as he watched the still-slightly-husky fourteen year old bounce. “Why are you so happy?” he asked, trying to keep his face bent down toward his notebook in order to hide a smirk. “No reason I shouldn’t be. But it might have something to do with that I flushed your nunchucks down the toilet!” Irving grinned broadly. “''WHAT?!” “Not really, stupid.” He plopped down next his brother. “So you can react? Good. You’re not dead.” He paused a moment to look Albert up and down. “You do realize that you’ve been up here since…about three, I think…right?” he asked. Albert gave a quick, curt nod. At that, Irving attempted to lean over his shoulder to get a look at the notebook. “What’cha writing?” “''WHOA, dweeby!” Albert exclaimed as he held his brother at arm’s length, clapping the book shut. “I do believe that that does not concern you.” “Sorry.” Irving stood up and walked close to the edge, peering down at the city below. Every patron of Danville looked like ants from here… “''Wish I had a magnifying glass.” He thought. He then noticed that Albert was doing the exact same thing, and that he had been for a while. Albert had been a little mopey since they moved downtown. The guy always preferred a wide open suburb to a crowded little apartment. And, hey; Irving didn’t like it much, either, especially considering that he couldn’t be close enough to see what the boys were doing (and he’d scrapped the hidden cameras three years back). Still, he didn’t spend five hours on the roof doing…whatever Albert was doing. “Everybody’s going someplace tonight.” Irving commented, in an attempt to start a real conversation. “Yeah.” Albert nodded, still leaning his head over the ledge. Another pause filled the air. “You know what?” He finally said, throwing himself backwards to lie down on the concrete. “It’d be really useful to have…some people. They could make you happy, feel good about yourself. But they hardly know your name.” “Of course.” Irving agreed. He then caught sight of something in particular down below in the city streets—something bright orange; a head of hair, it seemed. Yes, that was it, and it fell down in a long waterfall down her back, where it curled up in a smiling shape on the sides. She was standing underneath the front that jutted out of the nearby coffee shop. Irving then realized that Albert had been glancing at her the entire time. This is where Irving took the opportunity to yank the notebook from off of Albert’s lap. Ignoring the high-powered protests and threats, he selected a dog-eared page and, after quickly confirming that its contents were properly romantic, crumpled it up and threw it to the streets. It landed directly on the side of the curb nearest the redhead. As she picked it up, her eyes met Albert’s glare. “Irving…” he muttered. “You’re going to die…” Then, Candace waved up. “Hi, Albert!” And here, Albert’s jaw dropped. “…Irving, you’re going to live.” “You’re welcome.” / / / '''I swear that I listen to much better stuff than this. This is just what came up on my iPod.' …And this was sort of inspired by personal experience, you could say… OKAY MOVING ON (bright red) / 4: Halo (Beyoncé) / Vanessa’s. Boyfriend. These two words were not supposed to be next to each other in any galaxy anywhere. Had she ever had a boyfriend? No (crushes didn’t count, but they contributed to her cynical nature). Did she know girls that did? Oh yeah, and how stupid it was. Love didn’t mean anything. And every time somebody said they found the one they were destined to be with, she gagged hard. Vanessa knew that destiny was only a concept. People weren’t made for each other; not in any way, shape, or form. Liking someone in that way could never make a difference. Despite how her dad tried, he knew it as well…and Vanessa could see just how nicely his life was going. Everybody knew how Vanessa felt. Everybody knew she was pretty much alone…the pessimistic, creepy girl who was always angry and who hung out with pessimistic, creepy people. Nobody in their right mind would want her; heck, even her weird friends would never take someone so freaky. And then she had a boyfriend. Everyone’s jaws initially dropped when they heard the news, but when they saw Johnny himself…it was still pretty shocking, even if they seemed alike. But that wasn’t even the weirdest thing. What WAS the weirdest thing was how Vanessa acted. Her yelling progressively lessened and lessened until she only ever saved it for something legitimately annoying. Along with this, the pessimism faded. She no longer found herself destined for failure and thought she could achieve something if she tried. It might’ve even been possible that she became a bit…mellow. Someone finally asked. They had to. What was it about Johnny that had such an effect on her? It needed to be addressed. Her answer was simple. “I had walled myself off, but he cared about me…then, I decided to tear my walls down. Best decision I ever made.” / / / Poptart Notes: For this one, you can blame fanon theories. Also, don't ask why Linda's so dumb here and can't make the connection about Vivian…unless she figures it's a different one. / 5. Midnight Train to Georgia (Gladys Knight and the Pips) / Eleven forty-five. Make it forty-six. Danny bit his fist a little bit. The wait from this point wouldn't be all that long, really, but he knew that it would feel like forever. At this hour, the station wasn't that crowded at all, but the stress on the guy's shoulders made any amount of people seem like far too many to him. So many people, so many housewives and business men and bratty five-year-olds, and nobody that Danny actually cared about. No, those two were still in Danville. His current destination. How he had been able to leave them behind for that little dream of his, he'll never know… "Hey, aren't you Danny?" He looked up to find the asker of the question—a young, red-haired woman had sat down next to him, a large bag in her lap. "F-from Love Handel?" In reply, Danny grunted and buried his face in his hands. As he did so, the redhead prattled for a good length about how much she loved that band, yammer yammer yammer… "—and I'm Linda, by the way." She finished about three minutes later. "So, where are all the others?" "We broke up." Danny responded flatly. "Oh, sad…well, where are you going?" Linda asked, not seeming too crushed. "I'm going to Danville. I'm, uh…I'm getting married!" Danny sighed at her self-employed enthusiasm. Rather sharp contrast to his mood. "Same here—err, not getting married. Just going back to Danville." Linda gasped. "Really?" "Yeah. Last I was there, Vivian was about to have our…I-I mean, her daughter." He had to correct himself out of pure paranoia. "Ooh, I have a friend with the same name, you know. She had a little girl recently—named it Isabella." Danny lit up. "Really? N-nice name." Linda nodded. "Yep. But I never saw the father. He went away somewhere, but she says she's waiting for him." And here, she smiled a bit. "She doesn't like to be alone." "No…no she doesn't." Danny murmured. DONG! The huge clock in the back of the station began to strike, and every patron counted. Two, three, four, five, six, seven eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. "Ooh, this is the train!" Linda exclaimed as she stood. Danny nodded. "Thanks for the…uh…company." He told her as he boarded. Linda smiled. "Anytime." / / / Poptart Notes: PINK FLOYD Also, I warn thee; this is a chapter with little fluff in it. / 6. One of My Turns (Pink Floyd) / Here he was again. The old screen door creaks open and slams incontinently. He didn't really know why this time. "Oh my GOD," a pretty young sprite of a woman exclaimed, "What a fabulous room!" Doof Inc.'s basement was freezing cold. It wasn't a surprise, considering how low Heinz kept the air conditioning on the other levels—heating bills; he thought he should design a new scheme just to eradicate them… "Are all these YOUR guitars?" Oh, yes, the tapes. Heinz wasn't sure what kept bringing him down to this basement, in front of this little television set, watching this old VHS tape. The thin man behind the camera gave a gentle smile at the lady as she wandered around the room, contemplatively and enthusiastically observing the collection of instruments. From his old home in Druelselstein, he had managed to haul in plenty of old knickknacks. As he watched the girl's face turn brighter and brighter over each brassy surface, he couldn't help but thank his father for having such a purposeless love of collecting instruments. Charlene used to be so pretty. "God…this place is bigger than our apartment…" She was enamored with the house. And, the man hoped, with him, as well. And lovable. He relaxed, and set his sights upon the television set, which ran with a quiet sound, the volume low. Funny, he thought he turned it off. Either way, he picked up the remote and began to lazily click through it all, too dreamy in his state of mind to even bother to turn the camera away from it. "Uh…can I get a drink of water?" The man nodded. "You want some? Huh?" But now…well, she was okay. The man chuckled softly. She was a good one, she was. A good, cute, funny one. All was well. Here, the video jumped, cutting to a new scene. A few years later, now. "What are you watching?" The woman was holding the camera now, creeping up gently behind the man—her husband—who sat in that armchair, turning through all the channels on the television set…he seemed pestered. It was unusual for him to be so pestered. "Hello?" She knelt by his side. She was still ignored. "Are you feeling okay?" Heinz braced himself. "I know what you did." "H-Heinz…" His wife's voice trembled. "What are you talking about?" A crumpled bit of paper was flung at her face. "Why don't you dial the number on this paper and ask Tyler?" "T-Tyler? Who in the name of the planet Earth is Tyler?" "Oh, you're a cute liar." Heinz snarled. "Heinz, don't look at me like that…" "You won't look at me the same way you look at TYLER…" "Heinz—" "Or Jordan." "Heinz!" "Or…just…never mind it!" Heinz shot up from his chair. His wife made a pathetic little murmur, shuffling back. The camera pretty well captured his grimace. "I am going to give you eight minutes to pack up your things and go." "But Heinz! W-what about Vaness—" "I'll be BEATEN if you get full custody of her. Eight minutes, Charlene." "HEINZ!" "Don't you get indignant with me! I'M the one who spent five months moving all of your worthless junk into this building. I'M the one who had to leave all of HIS 'worthless junk' in a scrap heap just to make that happen! I AM THE ONE WHO'S HEART YOU'VE BEEN STOMPING ON FOR ALL OF THESE FOUR WORTHLESS YEARS!" Charlene stumbled; the camera flew from her hands, landing in a corner of the room. It only saw the ceiling when the glass clattered and crashed from where she had shattered the glass table into shards. "Oh dear…ugh …" Charlene groaned. "Six minutes." Heinz growled. "Of all the things I ever had to—" "FIVE MINUTES!" "I hate you!" Charlene spat. There was a sharp thwack against her husband's cheek. "…''Five. Seconds."'' "I HATE YOU!" "One." The baby upstairs began to cry. "Two. Three. Four." "HEINZ, IF I EVER SEE YOU AGAIN—" "Five. You're still in my house." Heinz took a grip of his newly divorced ex-wife's arm and handled her over to the front door. The latches clicked open and he threw her out there into the cold, alone. The door slammed in her face. "Hmmmm…" The man, thin and tired, knelt down and picked the camera up again. Glory had it, it was still recording. "Well…" He sighed. "Cut." And the tape went to static. Heinz exhaled, standing up and removing the tape from the player. "Charlene is a good mother…" He mumbled. And there was no one around to hear. / / / Note: On this one, I was too lazy to activate my iPod, so I just tossed iTunes open and made a random selection. / 7: The Pretender (Foo Fighters) / Baljeet was a friend of Buford's. The police could've pulled him aside any day and interrogated him, and that would be a fact. But not today. Not now. Today was a war kind of day. An unfriendly day. A Buford's-time-to-shine day. While his friend stood on that side of the moon that was bright and familiar to man, Buford was on the dark and shaded side, an agent. A spy. Spying for himself. Baljeet had his little friends--ha! What fools! They thought that their king could be the one who slayed this dragon. Not today! This dragon had his A-Game on today! And what was the fleet armada's remaining expanse? A single ship. A hungry beast could take out that little infant with one swift strike. Float like a pixie, sting like a bee. Victory, thy name is Buford. He is thy king and conqueror and bestest friend. Now the little dork's army was watching him. Observing. The spy was spied upon. And the captain was in his little bath toy, watching him from a telescope. Aw, he was even dressed up all cute for the occasion! Whosa cute wittle navy officer? You is! Yes you is! The war cry rang out. With one demanding swipe of his hand, Baljeet's crew fired. The torpedo hissed through the water. Hot, menacing bubbles split off either side of its head. The explosion came three miles east of him. MIIIIISS. Buford hauled back into his cave and found the abandoned elevator shaft. With one bound, he sent his heavy body hurdling downward, descending, until he collapsed onto the floorboards of the ammunition chamber. He raced up to the pods and checked the missile count. One left. Uno. Un. Eins. Oh well. Fire in the hole. Buford entered the coordinates, pulled the levers and thought of his goodbye. Goodbye, Baljeet. Goodbye, nerd. Goodbye, little yorkie that wanted to be a Rottweiler. Goodbye, boy who played too deep into the big leagues. The torpedo fired, quaking and roaring as it left its vesicle. Goodbye, pretender. The impact was loud. Metal bending and twisting and heating and melting and crackling. Buford wished he had that in surround sound. The only thing that wasn't very fun was Baljeet. Too destroyed to play again as his ship fell under the water, hissing on contact, quenching their flames. But hey, that didn't stop him from some good-old-fashioned-maniacal laughter. What DID stop him from that was Baljeet standing up and slapping the game shut with an air of annoyance. "Alright, Buford, we get it; you sunk my battleship! Get OVER yourself already!" / / / Chapter 8: Zero (The Smashing Pumpkins) / Isabella pouted. "Why can't I see Phineas?" She grumbled demandingly as Ferb gave her another shove back from the door. Candace sighed. "He's not well." "Oh dear!" Isabella looked frightened, holding her hands up to her lips. "Poor baby! Is he sick?" Candace considered this for a moment. "Ummm…yeah. In the head." "The head?" Isabella echoed, looking mystified. Candace rolled her eyes. "It's the result of an odd experiment rather than having a conventional illness." Ferb explained, finally speaking for the day. "Experiment? I don't see what could've gone so wrong to keep my little Phinny away from me." Isabella smirked mischievously, pushing Ferb (who this time made no motion to stop her) out of her way to enter the house. In response to this, the two grabbed her arms. "Whoa there, Jethro." Candace said. "Hey!" "We can't let you stay in here. Wanna know how bad this is?" Isabella nodded. "It's so bad that I don't even want Mom to see it!" "Oh. My. Gosh." Isabella's jaw dropped. "Yeah." Candace agreed, guiding her back to the door. "So hurry on. We're trying to work out—" "Heeeeey!" A familiar voice came from the top of the stairs. Isabella whipped around excitedly and fled from the grips of Candace and Ferb. "Phineas!" But then she stopped short. It was Phineas, but it didn't look like him. Well, yes; it LOOKED like him, but it was also different. This Phineas strutted down the stairs with a ridiculous, jerky stride. An oversized black T-shirt, hardly smaller than what Buford would wear, was flopping around on his frame, displaying the emblem of anarchy across the front. His jeans were slid down to an unneeded low, to the point where his underwear was visible. He'd also apparently found a red marker and had written several terrible words all over his face. "P-P-Ph…Phineas?" Isabella stammered, looking terrified. Phineas ran his hands through his hair, which hadn't appeared to have been washed for a while. "Heeeeey, babe!" He laced his arm around his shoulder and breathed his abnormally grotesque breath into her face. "What'cha do-in' later?" Isabella staggered back, tears in her eyes. "Ugh. See?" Candace placed her hand on Phineas' shoulder. "You've attracted the monster." "What happened to him?" "Some personality-changey-switchy-polarity…y…wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey stuff." Candace struggled through the words. "Aaaaaaaoooooooooo!" Phineas howled, jerking his shoulder out from under his sister's palm. He then gripped Isabella by the hand and twirled her, then dipping her down close to the floor. "Who cares?" "WE care!" Candace exclaimed. "Pffff." The bizarro inventor released the young girl and rolled his eyes. "Like that makes any difference to—" He suddenly gasped. "What is this?" He gestured to the framed photograph he had picked up. "It…it's you." Isabella murmured. "Don't you remember?" "BLEGH!" Phineas gagged. "As IF!" And with that, he threw the portrait to the floor, turning the glass into hundreds of little shards. Everyone leapt back. "Ph-Ph-Phineas…" Isabella looked like she was going to cry. However, the chance of any sobs escaping was eliminated when the boy clapped a hand over her mouth. "Ssh! Now listen to me, sweetheart: I like you. I like you a lot. In fact, you could dang well be the only person who I ever like this much." He slowly began to stroke the girl's hair. "And secretly…" He sighed into her ear. "I might not be as well off in life as I seem, baby. So…how 'bout it?" Isabella coughed from the fog of the new-Phineas' breath, wrenching her lips out from under his hand. "Fix him!" She cried out. "Oh my GOSH! Fix him NOW!" Ferb held up an empty syringe and spoke again. "I'm working on it." ''9: Never too Late (Three Days Grace) '' // Candace pulled to a stop in front of the old house that she knew so well. Funny how many memories she had of smoke wafting from the backyard like it was right now. She bit her lips with an attempt at restraint. "No busting today, Candy." She told herself. "You're here to help." By the time that she had gotten out of her car, Isabella was running out to see her. "Candace!" Her voice was quick and nervous. "Hi! How is, uh, college?" "Why is the backyard smoldering?" Candace asked, straight-faced. "Oh, you know," Isabella tittered, "Phineas is in another one of his 'ruts' lately..." "Yeah, I know. That's why you called me over. Why do you seem so nervous?" Isabella swallowed. "Well...you know how worthless he can feel when he can't think of anything to make...and sometimes it can get a little bit bad..." She trailed off for a second. "What if you can't help him this time?" "Oh, Isabella," Candace giggled, "You should know by now that I never fail at anything." "Actually, you usually fail at everything." Isabella pointed out. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." Candace replied. "Now...bring me to my brother!" There was a pause. "He's just in the back yard..." Isabella said, pointing behind her. "Right. Thanks." Phineas was sitting in the middle of the yard, knees to his chin and a wrench in his fist. He was completely coated in soot, and the remains of a failed invention were smoking before him. He whimpered with defeat. Candace sat down next to him, lacing an arm over his shoulders. "A 'rut', huh?" She smirked. Her brother's lips trembled as he nodded. "Mhmm." "...So, what were you trying to make? It looks...neat!" Candace gingerly picked up the mechanical carcass from the ground. "Neat" was the politest word she had for it. "...Mhmm." Phineas just nodded again. Candace looked around the yard, searching her head for more to say. "Why, I bet this would be an awesome atomic...thingy. Or a really cool solar-powered...thingy...or an INCREDIBLE turbo-charged...thingy!" Phineas sat motionless in the middle of the yard, staring at the grass. "Or...or this was probably supposed to be an awesome...television, right? Is that what it was supposed to be, Phineas?" There was no answer. Isabella leaned over the fence. "Candace, I don't really think this is the right way to go about--" She began. "Nope!" Phineas shot up like a bullet. "Nope, nope. That's right! She's right! What, what? She is! She's right, you're right! Really! It WOULD be a really super-awesome-incredible-cool television-stereo system-three car garage-watering can-thingy-thingy-thingy! It was! It would've been! It was!" His voice grew more frantic as he grabbed his sister by the shirt, pressing his face against hers. "Was! Would've been! Maybe! Not is. It's not anything! It's nothing! Candace, don't you know that even before you left I was losing my mind?! I can't do anything! I'm washed up! There's nothing left for me to do or make! Nothing comes out but this..." Phineas grabbed the destroyed invention from his Candace's hands and shook it. "This big exploded pile of dead metal! Stuff was all cool when I was a kid, I guess, when I had this huge imagination! Everything was possible! But don't you see now that I've completely sapped everything up?! I'm fifteen! FIF-TEEN! I was hippity-hopping the whole planet when I was ten! I've got nothing now!" Phineas finally stopped for a second to breathe, slumping against the old tree. "Unless I can invent myself a new brain, I might as well throw in the toolbox." He shot Candace a woeful look. "I'm washed up, sis. It's too late." Candace choked. She couldn't even believe she'd heard that. "Listen HERE, buddy boy; I am still your big sister even if I don't live at home. And I did NOT leave my place, rent an old SUV, hop in there and drive over four hundred miles back to Danville just so you could tell me you're folding! 'Too late'? You're Phineas Flynn! It's never too late for you! If nothing was impossible when you were a kid, why is it impossible for you now? It's not like the ways of the universe have flipped for you. The only thing that is impossible is that you've run out of ideas." Candace paused to shove a screwdriver into Phineas' hand. "And you know why?" "W...why?" Phineas asked timidly. "Because every day is new. Every day, the world is bigger and stronger and there's more life than there was yesterday. No two days are ever alike. Every day there's a new thing that the world needs. There's a new thought that you haven't had. There-is-a-new-invention-to-invent. The only thing that doesn't change is that there's someone ready to take the challenge." "...What about his brother?" Phineas suddenly smirked as he asked. At that moment, a new hand was on his shoulder. "Him, too." Ferb said, a hammer in hand. Phineas looked at him for a moment, then at Candace, and then back again. He smiled slowly, and grabbed his brother's hand, pumping it in a firm shake. "Alright, Candace," Phineas asked, turning again to his sister, "What can we start with?" Candace pursed her lips, considering it. "Build a giant slingshot." She said. "Fling me over to the antique store. Then, I can bring mom here and bust you for building it." And they laughed. Category:Fanon Works Category:Stories Category:PoptartPlus's Pages